


Stubborn

by EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Caretaker Hannibal, Caretaker Will, Established Relationship, Hannibal is Not a Cannibal, M/M, Martha Stewart mentioned, Mostly Fluff, Policeman Will, Psychiatrist Hannibal, Sick Hannibal, Sick Will, Sickfic, Sleepy Hannibal, Tired Hannibal, Will is sick in Chapter 2!, cute as hell, sick fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-08 06:03:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10380084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12/pseuds/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12
Summary: Will  is trying his best to take care of a sick Hannibal, the one doctor on Earth who refuses to get treatment...





	1. A Sick Psychiatrist

**Author's Note:**

> I have such a soft spot for Non-Cannibal Hannibal, and I've been sick for the last two weeks (which has been Hell). A little bit of fluff for these two came to mind, I hope you all enjoy :) Please R and R, let me know what you think!

“So, I know this isn’t to your usual standard, but I for one, trust Martha Stewart’s opinion on chicken soup…” Will held the tray of food in one hand, gently shutting the door behind him with the other. “And the crackers are actually name brand.”

“Thank you, Will.” Will looked over to the bed, frowning at the complete lack of improvement in Hannibal’s voice. It was hoarse, his accent thicker than normal, and as he looked him over, his eyelids drooped.

“You need to go to the doctor, Hannibal.” He said, setting the tray down, sliding it on the over-body table he was employing so Hannibal could eat. Even sick, with his skin a strange pallor as opposed to its usual olive tone, his fiancé looked incredibly well put together. His pajama top was a rich shade of red plaid that matched their bedspread, his hair still neatly combed since he had made Wil assist himin taking a shower that morning, his long fingers crushed the crackers carefully, and it was only in the slight tremble that much was given away of Hannibal’s sickness.

“I called Jack and told him I probably wouldn’t be in tomorrow. If you aren’t better, I’m taking you to the Urgent Clinic.” He watched Hannibal try in vain to hide his frown, keeping his eyes on the bowl of soup. Will put a hand on his leg. “For a former surgeon, you certainly don’t like going to the doctor.”

“There is a reason I stopped healing bodies, William.” He finally relented, after taking a long sip of soup, which, to Will’s satisfaction, made him smile slightly despite the fact that Hannibal certainly could have made better.

“Now you just fix minds.” Will patted him once, then stood.

“You should not have to miss work on my account, Will. I am capable of self-care,” Hannibal said, and Will turned to look at him, Hannibal’s head cocked to the side. “Though perhaps not as well as you have.”

Will wondered specifically what he was referring to: the soup, changing the bedsheets four times because Hannibal couldn’t bear the scent of sickness on them, missing his work at the police station to take care of him, or staying by his side when he was delirious with fever that the acetaminophen would not keep down. He smiled, deciding it didn’t matter.

“The world will be fine without my work for a few days, Hannibal. It is important that you feel better, so you can get back to your patients.” The most in-demand psychiatrist in Baltimore had been out of commission for nearly a week, and Will was growing both tired and increasingly alarmed at the sheer volume and type of phone calls he was fielding when Hannibal would finally manage to get sleep.

He sat on the loveseat in their bedroom, watching Hannibal eat his soup slowly, and sip at his water. He took the book off the nightstand, thumbing through it without actually reading, he didn’t want Hannibal to know he was watching him, but he didn’t want to risk anything either. He felt his muscles tense when a coughing fit came over Hannibal, who it seemed was determined to cough a piece of his lung into his fist.

“Do you want some more cough syrup?”

“No, I—“ But Hannibal was interrupted by another round of coughing. Part of Will wanted to cry with frustration, mostly because there was nothing more he could do, and both of them knew it. Hannibal’s fever had finally broken, but his symptoms lingered. Will stood, moving the now forgotten bowl of soup away, and instead sitting next to Hannibal, pulling him back against his chest as his body rattled with the coughs. He was cold under his clothes, and Will pulled him into a close hug.

“I don’t want you getting sick as well, Will.” Hannibal hacked out between coughs, either unwilling or too distracted to push Will away. His coughs were stronger, but he was growing weaker through them, exhausted from the ordeal.

“You aren’t contagious anymore.” He wrapped his free arm around him, pressing Hannibal’s head down into his shoulder letting him settle there as the last of his coughing fit faded.

He threaded his fingers through Hannibal’s hair softly, all the way down to rub slow circles on his back as his coughs faded into cagey wheezing and then normal breaths, only a slight hitch showing through. Will wasn’t sure how long he sat, but eventually, he felt Hannibal shift involuntarily against him as his muscles relaxed into sleep. He pressed a kiss to his hair, letting him sleep against him, as he reached and turned the lamp off.

He might regret it in the morning, when he woke up with his belt biting into his skin, and the odd angle they were laying at strained the muscles in his back. But right now, with Hannibal sleeping the easiest he had in days, with all of the laundry done, and the PD’s office not expecting him in the morning, and his weekly appointment with Dr. Bloom already moved, and nothing to worry about except the man cradled against him, Will Graham thought he could do with a little discomfort.

A man of few words, he didn’t whisper anything to Hannibal, but pressed a final kiss to his head, pulling the comforter up around them both as he let himself drift off into sleep, more tired than he had realized from taking care of a certain stubborn doctor who had begun to snuggle closer to Will in his sleep.

 


	2. The Good Doctor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all for the great reactions and feedback to the first chapter, I couldn't help this little follow-up :) Hoep you enjoy some sweetness between these two, god knows they read it. Please R and R, let me know what you think!

“Hannibal, this is really unnecessary.” But his fiancé continued to move around him as though he hadn’t spoken at all, fluffing the exorbitant number of pillows designed to entrap Will as well as prop him up, readjusting Will’s blanket for the hundredth time, trying to adjust the fan settings so the cool air would not move over Will, but would keep the room from drying out.

“Nonsense.” Was his final reply, as he poured another glass of freshly filtered water into the humidifier. “I intend to care for you, William, despite your obstinance.”

”At least I went to the doctor…” Will grumbled, but knew this was a fight he would lose. Hannibal may have bene able to overcome whatever illness had plagued him, but Will knew from the feeling of his head being squeezed through a tube that he needed antibiotics. Waiting almost three hours in a snot-filled, cough-ridden urgent care clinic had been worth it for the small bottle of pills that Hannibal gave to him in personally prepared rice pudding every eight hours.

Two days later and he could breathe well enough to sleep, but not well enough to do much else besides wheeze on occasion. Hannibal had been persistent in his regimen though, practically lifting him from the bed  for some time each day, moving him around their home in an almost waltz as he supported Will to keep the infection from draining into his chest and causing real problems. Each day, he had pulled Will into their shower, set him on the stool he had purchased so the water could at least run over him as Hannibal insisted on changing the sheets and pillowcases each day. Will was starting to think it was a good thing they had no children as of yet, the poor thing wouldn’t stand a chance at a normal, messy childhood.

Will closed his eyes, letting himself drift off to sleep amidst the mountain of finery that he had protested but was grateful for nonetheless, listening to Hannibal’s constant shuffling around him as a sort of odd lullaby.

 

He opened his eyes a while later, breathing in two nostrils full of air for the first time in a long time. He blinked, the room was darker, lit only by a lamp since the light of daytime outside had faded into darkness. It was silent, and he pushed back on his pillows, feeling something tug at his hand.

His first reaction, due to his years of work with crime scenes, was a shot of panicked adrenaline, and he almost jerked his hand away. But then he realized that the only thing that had ahold of him was a sleeping Hannibal Lecter, who had intertwined his fingers with Will’s as he had fallen asleep in the armchair next to him. His hair was mussed, the top buttons of his shirt undone and spread open, the tips of his thick chest hair exposed. He looked perfectly disheveled, largely in part, Will suspected, because he had spent most of the last two days on his feet, seeing to every imaginary whim he thought that Will had.

Will gently unlaced their fingers, standing so as not to wake him, and rearranged their bed so that their might be room for both of them. As an afterthought, watching Hannibal clasp his hands together in his sleep, he quickly changed the sheets for Hannibal’s sake, before wrapping his arms around his sleeping form, leaning him against him as Hannibal had done for him so many times in recent memory. He undid the heavy leather belt he wore, putting it on the now-empty chair, and laid Hannibal as gently as he could on the bed, lifting his legs, removing his shoes and socks. He could comment on many of the various attributes of Hannibal Lecter, but he was an incredibly deep sleeper, which often boded well for Will, who had a tendency towards insomnia.

Now, it was especially endearing. To watch Hannibal curl into sleep on their bed, naturally turning to where Will would usually be lying beside him, stretching out an arm to an empty half of the bed, a small, unconscious frown being the result of finding nothing with his outstretched fingers. Will smoothed out his own pajamas, ready to go back to bed, the tiredness of his lingering sickness taking its toll, but he noticed that the fan was out of place a bit. And so he fixed it. And then, the humidifier was low. And so he refilled it. And then the curtains were pulled back a bit too far, and so he moved them.

As his hands grasped the fine red material, he let out a laugh at himself. He looked over at Hannibal, still asleep. “This is your fault, you know.” He whispered, and left the rest of the perfectly misshapen room alone as he turned off the lamp. “Everyday I become more like you. Identically different.” He climbed into bed, pulling up his favorite comforter, but first moving Hannibal’s arm to where it wrapped securely around his waist.

“Thank you for taking care of me, teacup.” He settled himself on his pillow, trying not to react when he could have sworn the hand around his waist tightened a bit in a show of acknowledgement, instead choosing to let the moment between them remain privately his own. “I love you.” He added, slipping off into sleep before he noticed if Hannibal might do anything else.

 


End file.
